The Circus of Heresy
by Agent E7
Summary: A string of murders has erupted in the capital city of Decenia Prime, homeworld of the Holy Corite Alliance. With her acolytes wiped out, an Inquisitor hires former Bellato Special Forces Officer, Alexei Stukov to act in her stead. Decem help him.


First story in, and still I have no idea what to do on this site. Still, if you like it, give me a review.

Chapter 1: Point  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Only thirty-seven rounds left. I take cover behind a broken pillar, the cultists firing inaccurate shots with more zeal, less discipline. Not that I'm worried much. In all my years, I've never seen two things, a sane Redemptionist, and a cultist who could shoot straight. Normally that wouldn't have been a problem, but there was more of them, and less of me. Last clip, and I'm going to need to pistol-snipe all of them, unless I'm in the mood for either close-quarters or spellfire. It's taken me three weeks to get to this point, and a long line of corpses littered my path to get here. As I take in the absurdity of what was supposed to have been a straight and easy investigation wind up in ways that I shouldn't consider, I get the feeling that Decem's having a blast watching me cower behind pieces of masonry. But I get ahead of myself. For a brief moment, I look back and review the events that led to this FUBAR situation. Again.

Three weeks ago, Selaaras District, Corite Homeworld

As the French saying goes, cherchez la femme, it all started with a woman. Like most cliché detective stories, I was lounging in my office, the newscaster rolling off news I was no long paying attention to. The cities cries for justice ignored like a bum on the sidewalk. It was a slow night at the time, my plate empty and my boredom as stagnant and as high as the corpses on the Crag Mine Field. The calm before the shitstorm.

She entered my world like the creeping fear you get when you think someone's gunning for your neck, only more pleasantly. The first thing I noticed was the smell. The smoke of the city flooded my office like a cell of Redemptionists on one of their self-righteous crusades. Fast, furious, annoying. But mixed in that smoke was her scent, spicy, fragrant, and alluring, like so many Corite women. She rubbed spices on her skin for that extra special touch, which I can attest up to this day, was a very welcome touch. I looked up and was pleasantly stunned. Blonde hair up to her shoulders, slim, and from what little skin I could see, rather fit. I will admit that she was the kind of girl I spent ages on the extranet searching for a quick session of self induced pleasure. Sick, I know, but I just loved those French fry types. Blonde, crunchy on the outside, juicy on the inside. Just a one more trait and I'd have been a very happy Bell, but since Decem was wonderfully generous to fill 3 out of 4 traits, I sat back, gave my thanks, and enjoyed the show.

She doesn't move so much as glide toward me, her hips swaying enticingly as if she was taunting me to just leap out of my chair and take her, right there, right then; the smoke wrapped across her body like a robe, which made it astonishingly easy for me to imagine her naked. The thought entertained me for a while until I realized she was in front of me. At that moment I was rather thankful for the shades which I had the habit of wearing most of the time, giving me the cover to glance up and down on her assets. Her physique was remarkable, well sculpted, and tastefully done, not to mention her choice of interesting clothing, which should have been my second warning sign. She, however, leaned in on me giving me no other choice but to look up, though her cleavage was most impressive. As a consolation prize however, I got a much better look at her face, pretty, in an impish sort of way with hazel eyes lit up with good humour, and something else I couldn't put my finger on. Mischievousness? There was something ringing in the back of my head. Alarm bells that rang feebly, myself too distracted by the woman. I barely heard her speak until she brought me back.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stukov, were you listening to me?" She said, her eyes glinting with her amusement. I had a feeling, no, knew, that she knew about the effect she was having on me. "I thought I lost you for a minute." She suppressed a grin, which was my cue to bullshit her. Bullshitting her spectacularly was a consideration, a favourable one at that, but at the time, but I was too tired to make the effort.

"Sorry. Too much to drink. And my name's Stuart. Alex Stuart." A half-lie, both of it, but she didn't need to know. Last night's binge wasn't enough to drive me comatose, yet. But fortunately, I had enough of the stink of alcohol on me that she took the lie at face value. "What were you saying again?" Slurring my words just enough to give the right impression.

"I was introducing myself to you, Mr. Stukov, and don't play coy. I know. My name is Illsavriel Antarel, Inquisitor Antarel and I was told that you were experienced and more importantly, discreet in your services." Shit. That was what my hindbrain was trying to warn me about. Past the smoke and spice, I smelt the smell of silver and HX-316, a volatile compound most Inquisitors use for their firearms, "blessed gunpowder". Disregarding my cover, which she broke somehow, I knew right then that whatever she wanted was bad for my health. Whenever the Inquisition is involved, blood flows, eldritch abominations invade our homely plane of existence, and heretics of the highest order start franticly chanting in obscene and alien tongues. Not necessarily in that order, mind you. I should know, I used to work for them from time to time. The Inquisition I mean. Sighing, I asked (politely) for the idiot who decided to advertise for me to her. So that I could properly gut and cleave the bastard/bitch into two for giving out my real name, and causing untold misery for me.

"I can't tell you," she says, "I'd have to kill you." Giving the cliché answer. I expected no less, having been at this too many times. At least I tried. But the way she said it clarified that was also looking for a cheap reason to kill me. Well, at the time, I thought she was just being mean. It wasn't uncommon for members of the HOLY INQUISITION! (Exclamation point needed) to hire mercs, get them finish the job, then kill them to isolate the incident, and "coincidentally" save on funds, which wasn't a myth. Don't get me wrong, I don't have much against the Inquisition, but from my background, Inquisitors who skip out paying the bills by executing their employees are scum, (just don't tell that in front of them). Naturally, I've been there, done that, buried them, looted and purged the records. All for the sake of survival, mind you. I'm certain they'd have done the same, only with more enthusiasm. As for HER motives, I was in for a shock, but at the time we went back to business. And my business was gathering information, preferably that which would save my miserable hide.

"Colour me tickled, Ms. Inquisitor lady," I'll admit, pissing off an Inquisitor was heavy risk, but the prize… I played it cute. Don't ask, I just like to annoy. Old habits. "But what could this little merc do that your acolytes couldn't? Surely, you have some, as you don't look the type to go out and boldly strike down the enemies of Her Majesty's sacred Alliance on your lonesome." I had a point there, most of the Inquisitors who DO go solo tend to be from the Order of the Spear, Sword, or Hammer. No need to guess what weapons they employ. Most notable were the Order of the Bloody Spear, who usually dealt with enforcing the will of Decem through violence and single-bloody-mindedness. Usually both, but every now and then they make it a point to add a few extra ingredients to that mix.

"Actually, my acolytes were wiped out. I need someone who's more resilient, and better than they were. I know you can succeed where they failed." She said with a smile. So I got the picture. Her acolytes failed. Miserably. Now she's hiring a merc, a hard man no less, who might be better than they were. Great, now comes the fifty thousand Disena question, why is she convinced that I'm better than they were? My job history was mostly a clean slate, mostly. Nothing special, even the Inquisitional records were purged. I made sure of that. And of all the things ringing in my head, I got the feeling that I knew her from somewhere. And her acolytes wiped out? That spelt out doom as clearly as the Liber Malignis Daemonibus in paperback.

"Your acolytes were wiped out? How? Didn't they respawn back at wherever you Inquisition types respawn?" I asked, curious, and knowing that every scrap of information I could get could save my sorry hide.

"That's just it, I don't know." Her face pensive, she continued. "They just dropped off the net, didn't respawn, and I can't get another team on such short notice. Whatever it is, it's big. My superiors can feel it. I needed someone better, someone like you." I felt the temperature drop to an uncomfortable degree, and I'm Artemian. "I'll pay you three million Disena." At that moment, I instinctively knew that that wasn't going to cut it, and I made sure I made my concerns were clear.

"Three million might not cut it. There are the costs of ammunition, contacts, people to bribe, efforts taken to coerce informants, and the like on my own, you know. Then there's the "off" chance that this mission might be a little more than we bargained for. That easily brings up the price by a very good amount. Then there's the issue of your acolytes gone off the radar, possibly wiped. Whoever or whatever wiped out your personal cadre of raving lunatics, is going to take a load of effort to bring down. That brings up the price even more. Only way I can see this being fair, is that I do the mission, and I'll give you the bill later. Fair enough for both of us." I lied, the part that it was fair for both of us. There was the understandable concern that she'd just try to kill me afterwards. After all, she has her little errand done, and I could get a bullet in the head for my troubles, and I respawn back in Bellato territory. I also left out the part where I'd do my little solution of killing the Inquisitor and looting her kit, Inquisitional equipment selling for loads on the black market, in case of that little scenario. Always prepared. My father would have been proud.

"I believe that is fair." Her grin was pleasant, cute even, but her motives, if I read her right, were not. We shook hands, her smile faltering when she saw mine. Probably had my teeth out. That usually unnerves most people. "I'm sure we'll have a pleasant working relationship Mr. Stukov."

"I hope we do Ms. Antarel. But I must ask again, why do you know my name?" I smiled before shrugging, dropping it abruptly. "Never mind. Just don't go spreading my name. You know how much your kind loves ex-Bellato Infiltrator Captains."

"Understood Mr… Stuart. Do I take it you've accepted this little errand of mine?"

"Indeed I have, milady." Sticking to the theatrical. The only way I was going to have a chance to walk away from this is that I accept the job anyway. (And to quote a book which I happened to enjoyed greatly, "I am sure that most of the men in the galaxy are familiar with the sinking feeling that accompanies the words 'Do you think you could do me a favour, darling?' but when the woman doing the asking is an Inquisitor, it's even less wise to say 'No'. " It's ironic that the situation should apply to me.) If I had refused, I'd have gotten a shot in the head automatically. Besides, I was curious as to what she wanted. Whatever she wanted, no matter how unpleasant it would have been for me, it'd be best for the state of my new home. I used to be a sucker for faith and duty. Still am.

"You know about the series of murders in the Varahel District?" Knew it, hell, it was all over the news. I couldn't miss it. My Arbiter contact, Judicator Samir Greyson, called me up three days ago asking my help for this case. I had a butcher's at it, owing him as a mate.

Three months ago, a client hired me to investigate a group for scamming his employees. Normally, that wouldn't have been much of a problem in his sort of business, but he was a man with morals and standard, which I can respect. Then there was how he was scammed. Saying that the boss needed a loan, of all things and that HE would pay them back. As I said, he was someone who didn't leave his workers hanging, but he'd still have to pay them and lose his own share. Naturally, it didn't sit well with him, and he wanted whoever was behind it to have his or her head served on a silver platter, with a side dish of his/her genitals. Pleasant man, really. It so happened, that the poor bastard I was searching for, also ripped off the little sister of Judicator Samir Greyson, who I ran into during the course of my investigation. Long story short, we found the bastard, found out he spent all the money on booze, first class meals, and rather expensive escorts (tasteful ones, I admit), worked him over with some of the skills I learned when I was still in the Federal Army, and as my employer requested, sent over requisitioned body parts to him in a silver platter. A pity that I couldn't find a large enough platter, as calling him morbidly obese, was the understatement of last year. Greyson kept silent about that incident since he was brassed off as my employer. We've had a pleasant working relationship ever since, working together when we cross each other on the same case. He doesn't mention me in front of his superiors, which is just as well, considering I'm the ex-Bellato Black Ops type. As drinking mates, he held his liquor well enough, until his fifth, and then he's out like a light.

We've also worked together on some busts, and by worked together, I meant spending time looting evidence for "safe keeping". Weapons, dirty money, military hardware, trophies, the like. We didn't touch the drugs much, unless they were the banned experimental combat drugs. Those were used for private use only, saving both our arses several times thanks to the boosts. When the murders started, he called me up for a different view, a different perspective, the lot of them were too sick to continue, but I didn't have the time to help, I was busy with other matters on my own.

"I have. Certain sources." I replied.

"I see. Any may I ask how?" Her curiosity piqued.

"I'd tell you. But I'd have to kill you." I said with a smile. An eye for an eye, as they say. Basic rule of revenge. No matter how petty.

"I see. I look forward to your report Mr. Stuart. Give me a call when you find something important." With that, she left me her communication codes to upload to my Tech-pad and walked out the door, just like the way she came in. With the immediate threat to my life out of the way, I took a deep breath and took a look around my office. It's been eight long years since my desertion. The walls were lined with trophies of memories, some triumphant, some happy. All were painful to remember. From my first Accretian killed on Novus, orders given for reasons which never should have been considered, to the picture of my platoon, all lined up, their smiles wide as if they were proud to have been serving with me. I could picture their disappointment in me.

I quickly grabbed a vodka from the bar and pour myself a healthy dose, heading out to the window and take in the view of Decenia Prime, the capital of Cora. The view of the towering spires, and aircars speeding about reminding me of the Artemis Military District, though, the sky was natural, compared to the distant ceiling of home. The sharp bite of the liquid bites the back of my throat like lit fuel. Time to get to work.

I walk back to my desk and activate my computer. The systems lighting up with intelligence reports from access agents, ELINT, HUMINT, and IMINT, you name it, received straight from Valentina, neatly sorted and categorized, with zero BOGINT, though a bit of RUMINT here and there just to keep me entertained. If the members of the Inquisition ever found about the both of us, well, they'd wet their skirts and trousers and start a war to claim her for their own. My own personal widdle shadow broker. Even though I "retired" (deserted), old habits die hard, creating and maintaining new assets, just in case. Sorting through the "daily news", I open the files collected yesterday. As talented as Valentina is, she can only do the electronic side of intelligence gathering. I have to walk around and fill in the blanks. The "Circus" murders were featured on the nightly news with a grey screen plastered on the images. The public and I have probably missed something on them if they warranted the Inquisition's short attention span. I spread the files on my wall, lighting up the room in Bellato orange. Pictures taken from the scene of the crime, ballistics, and known victim IDs were shown on the wall, clear as crystal. All of them second hand. Second hand wasn't going to cut it, not to mention that it was tampered. Somewhere, someone started covering up the intel, sending us on a snipe hunt. Normally, it wouldn't have been noticeable, but Valentina had her ways. Binary scrambling was detected followed by a regimen of file-by-file encryption, overwriting it with similar, but altered copies. Everything that could have been done to erase and cover the original data without resorting to degaussing. Getting that real data back will take time, time I don't have to sit around doing nothing. I let Valentina do her work while I got out of the office, grab some fresh air. I sometimes I think I work her a little too hard.

The city's dropped to a comfortable chill, with the city still going strong. It never sleeps. At this time, you could find almost anything in the back alleys. Anything. Even short cut to Death herself. As I walked through the city, a sobering thought pierces my head. I'm out of food and alcohol. Cursing the night, I did a heel face turn that would have done my DI proud.

At the supermarket, I pass through the aisles grabbing what I needed for a home cooked meal. As I was in the meat section choosing my cuts and haggling the prices with the butcher, I got the feeling someone was watching me. Paranoia's only paranoia when no one's really out to get you. Before I realized it, my left hand was resting on the pistol behind my back.

"Something wrong, boss?" The heavy set man asked me. I could read it in his eyes, he thinks I'm as cracked as a soprano's voice once sufficient force has been applied to the gonads.

"Nothing. Sorry, been a bad day." An understatement. "Problem with a woman, and my job. You know."

"Yeah, been there myself." He said with a snort. "Wife didn't like me staying at this job. Not enough pay. But I love my job. Good service to the folks, and thus a good service to Decem."

"Yeah, I get that. But isn't charging 760 Disena a bit much? That's 50 Disena above the total cost, plus taxes and a reasonable profit. It only costs 12.59 D's a kilo to send the meat from Grashalo."

"Yeah, I know. You're sharp. But hey, sorry buddy, I'm not the one pricing. Take it up with Grisham, that weedy brazak. You know the type. That 50 D's going straight to his wallet. Bureaucrats" He said.

"Yeah, I know the like of him. That lot weren't particularly liked back at my old job. Still, not going to do anything about it?" I asked.

"Nah." Wiping his hands on his apron. "I figure I let him continue, then when the Arbiters come to rail his ass, take a few photos and run it myself. No sense in wasting the effort on the brazak."

"I see." Sighing, I continued. "Well, let's hope that brazak's gets shafted soon. I need the extra Disena." Chuckling, I hold my hand out for the cuts. Whatever the reason that got my paranoia to tingle, it was gone.

"Ah, a starving artist. Here's to the arts!" He adds a few more choice cuts to my bag. "You're a pleasant guy. And you're sharp with the cash, so I'm thinking you're a Bellato. Not many of them care for good old sanctioned meat." Sanctioned meat being properly processed and blessed by a Dark Acolyte.

"Half, actually. Been a Decemite from my Sire's side. Still see her every now and then. But it's a little too much for what I paid for."

"Nah, take it. You should take a look at yourself. Good clothes, but you look like a warrior straight from Kirasalvos." Referring to the planet contested by the Alliance and the Empire on the western front. I take a mental check of myself and realize I do look like a trooper after a sixty-day siege. I grin, and he chuckles. "That brazak has to go fist himself for now. Take it as a sign of good will. And an invitation to buy more from me!" He starts laughing boisterously. I join in, almost forgetting to laugh. Once the laughter dies down, he puts on a sombre face. "So. So…" I paused for a few minutes, thinking that this was some sort of NIB operation and this was their idea of a joke before they take me in. "You going to be my loyal customer?" Saying that with a straight face, I nearly double over laughing my arse off.

"Deal. Tits of Decem, you got me going there for a moment there." A smile lights his face up.

"That usually gets the other customers as well. I did stand up comedy playing the straight man with a buddy of mine."

"I see. Well, see you next week, mate."

"You too, chief."

What? Contrary to popular belief, I do manage to get by some days normally. I grab quick meal at a food stall, I head back to my office. Tomorrow's the day I start working for the Inquisition. If I knew what was going to happen for this week, I'd have raided a local brothel and fucked my way through all of the women, even the female clients if I was able.

And that's it for now. Tell me if I messed up somewhere down the line. Thanks.


End file.
